


The Animal Kingdom

by fuzzycoffeeslut



Category: Furry (Fandom)
Genre: Adventure, Age Difference, Alcohol, Animals, Anthropomorphic, Assassination, Blood, Corruption, Cruelty, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy, Fic, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Foxes, Fur, Furry, Gay Character, Gay Male Character, Horses, Hyenas, Loss of Parent(s), Love, Love Triangles, M/M, Mead, Mercenaries, Middle Ages, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Omniscient, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Size Difference, Slavery, Taverns, Tigers, Wolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzycoffeeslut/pseuds/fuzzycoffeeslut
Summary: Set in a universe populated with anthropomorphic animals, the story's main focus is on our fox protagonist, Cinolæus. Cino was raised in slavery and after escaping set out to become a vigilante assassin against the morally corrupt and greedy. He does not enjoy killing, but does so out of a sense of duty. He has a strong moral compass and will not kill innocents, but he shares no sympathy for villainous individuals. The story begins with Cino being in Canisia, an empire populated by mostly canine species. The plot revolves around his love interests and his own emotional turmoil as he continues his work as an assassin, with the first arc containing flashbacks and mostly action. I plan to include NSFW sexually explicit content, but these would occur in separate chapters, and have very little effect upon the actual plot and be purely for smut.
Relationships: Cino/Brutus, Cino/Maxwell
Kudos: 9
Collections: Multifandom OC Appreciation Day, The first Furry dedicated collection on A3O!





	1. Blood and Mead

“Hey  _ fox, _ watch it,” the tiger grunted in annoyance. The fox continued walking past, he seemed hurried, but where would one need to rush to at such a late hour; only a quarter til midnight.

“Damn vermin got mud on my robes. Where the hell are the embassy guards?”

He kept walking up to the embassy palace gates, pulling his key from his pocket, he turned toward the head guard at the gate.

“Have you any guards on the rooftop?”

“No sir, the guard scheduled went missing this morn—”

The tiger grabbed the guard by the collar.

“Listen you  _ pathetic  _ mongrel! I’ve got a hit on me and I don’t intend to die anytime soon! Put your men on the roof or I’ll gut you ‘til you howl!”

The tiger dropped hold of the guard. The wolf coughed and gasped for air. Stammering, he spoke, “...y-yes sir. I’ll get it done.”

The tiger scoffed at the miserable wretch. He entered through the gate and stood before the embassy entrance. The door bore an intricate design of gold and laquered wood, signifying the wealth of the Tigrisian Republic. 

Ah yes, the Tigrisian Republic, a rich land of minerals and rock formations, reigned over by a small oligarchy of ‘elected’ officials. The tiger knew of the Republic’s superiority over the Canisian Empire and of his species’ superiority of its occupants. He was only here for a few months, for diplomacy's sake of course, and then he would be back in his own palace with his own servants and not a bunch of mutts. Those weak, pitiful bastards. All those wolves had going for them was their noses and ears. They were pale in comparison to the overwhelming strength and speed of the tiger, much less any other feline species. 

The tiger entered. The main hall was dimly lit with several candelabras and the magnificent crystal chandelier. He walked frivolously across the hall towards the grand staircase. 

Suddenly, the tiger picked up on a faint noise. His ears perked up! Chills shot down the tiger’s back. It was the unmistakable chime of crystal colliding with crystal. 

_ The Chandelier! _

Engulfed by fear and dread, he witnessed a shadow overcast his own. His eyes widened and his body filled with panic, frozen as he peered over his shoulder to see the shadow descend upon him. 

What followed was no scream, no shrill blood-curdling noise. Were someone else present to hear, they would only hear the tumbling of bodies, followed by muffled cries for help, then pleas for mercy, ended by the sound of iron against skin and the dripping of blood on a marble floor.

* * *

Cinolæus looked at the sign hanging over the tavern door.  _ The Rowdy Stallion _ it read. Inside, he could hear the shattering of glass and yelling voices. Still, he went inside. He couldn’t care less about the atmosphere so long as they had good mead. Besides, after a few pints he’d be too drunk to notice. The inside was packed to the brim. Waitresses scurried with mugs to various tables across the room, as the animals being served made various remarks about the buxom qualities of them. Cino didn’t really care though, they weren’t exactly his type. His type, of course, being men.

Unable to spot an unoccupied table, Cino headed for the bar. On his way he was smacked into by a Hyena who fell and passed out on the floor. The hyena managed to spill some booze onto the fox’s tunic, a minor inconvenience, but nonetheless irritating. Cino shrugged it off and continued to the bar. He pulled himself up onto the stools, which were designed with larger mammals in mind. He signaled over to the bartender, a stallion with a clay brown coat of fur, a sleek black mane, and dark eyes the color the deepest water in the ocean. The horse appeared to be middle-aged if not older. When he approached, only then did Cino notice the size difference. He was quite small in comparison to the stallion in stature, half his height at best. The horse was also much stockier than his own slim, toned figure.

“What’ll it be?” The horse looked down at the fox. His own observations contrasted those of the small fox before him. Cino bore a youthful alluring display, with fur the shade of a creamy cup of coffee, and accents of a dark brown on his paws. The fur of his neck and chest appeared of a milky white complexion. His eyes locked upon the dark brown counterparts of his patron. The horse developed an insatiable lust for that fox in a matter of seconds.

“Do you serve mead here?” the fox inquired deliberately.

“Only the best in the entire city of Wolfden!”

“Great, I’ll take a pint.” Cino removed a small coin purse from his belt and poured four silver pieces onto the bar.

The horse burst into laughter. “A  _ pint _ ?! How can a fella as small as you drink a pint?! You must be some fox kid. What’s ya name?”

“Cinolæus.”

“Nice to meet you Cino, I’m Maxwell. Ya don’t mind if I call ya Cino, do ya?”

“No. Can I just get my pint?” He answered impatiently.

“No shit? You want a pint? Alrighty then boy I ain’t ya papa, lemme grab that for ya.”

Cino became flush with red at being called boy. He couldn’t help but admit to himself that he found the large stallion in front of him quite attractive, handsome even. He found Maxwell’s age and personality to be quite inviting, although he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it.

“Here ya go kid, drink up.” The horse placed the mug in front of Cino. He found it quite the spectacle watching the fox lift the mug with two hands, but resisted his temptation to chuckle at it.

Cino placed the pint down, he could feel a slight buzz coming onto him. “Do you offer rooms for rent? I’m looking for a place to stay while I look for work.”

Max raised his eyes. “Yeah we’ve got a few. They are a bit small, but it shouldn’t be a problem for you. And if you’re looking for work, I could always hire you to the tavern. We could always use a sexy fox maid in our ranks.”

Cino blushed at the insinuation. “I’m actually looking for jobs in a different line of work.” Signalling the stallion, Cino parted his cloak to reveal a dagger on his belt. The horse nodded understanding what the fox was getting at. Nothing more needed to be said. From what Maxwell could garner, Cino was an assassin, no doubt, although he had to wonder whether being as small as he was good or bad.

Shortly after, folks started clearing the tavern and Maxwell gave his new acquaintance the room key and directed him upstairs. He then returned to his post to gather up empty mugs. He peered at Cino’s mug: empty.

_ Hell, the bastard actually drank it all. _

Maxwell picked up the mug, wiped it clean, and stacked it with the rest. After locking the entrance, he fixed himself a pint of mead and placed himself at the bar. He remained fixated on Cino. He felt a connection to him, yet the two could not be different. He pondered upon his emotions. Cino was so mysterious, so perplexing, so alluring to Maxwell. Maxwell loved him. But was it really love, or was it simply a fleeting lust. Thinking about it only fatigued the horse. After he finished his mead, he headed upstairs to rest.


	2. A Night of Red

Cino wandered down the dark hall, blood dripped down the several gashes down his back. Every step forward blood seeped from his wounds, soaking his fur and falling to the floor. Yet Cino felt no pain, rather just numbed, absent to the pain. His body inched forward and stagnated upon a door. He fell to his knees. Everything around him faded to black, except for the door. Shudders fell down his back. Where was he? It felt eerie yet somehow familiar. Beyond the door, he heard the loud shouting of a large carnivore. 

Light shone through the keyhole. He didn’t want to look, something felt wrong ––he shouldn’t have been here. Why was he here? Where was he? True panic engulfed him. Drowning in total darkness. The only light was through the keyhole. Did he even have a choice. Time felt stagnant; frozen. Was he in hell? Why did hell feel so cold? 

He tried crying; screaming. He could do the one thing he was sure he didn’t want to do; look through the keyhole. But why? Why didn’t he want to look? What was he afraid of seeing? He couldn’t be sure. He felt something trickle down his back. Was it sweat, or more blood? He couldn’t be sure.

A sharp cry came from the door. He could bear the anxiety it no longer, he peeked through the keyhole. Through it he saw a tiger, leaning against a collapsed table. The tiger was covered in red from the neck down. His orange fur; now red. His black stripes; now red. The glass shard sticking out of his neck; now red. The door; now red. Everything became red. Cino backed away from the door, his hands shaking. He looked at his hands; now covered in red. He tried yelling to no avail. He was choking.

* * *

Cino shot up abruptly, covered in sweat. He shot a quick glance left and right. Everything in his room was empty. He heaved and gasped. Soon, he was crying as he curled himself into a ball and lay whimpering, tears dripping down from his eyes to his snout. He didn’t want to fall back to sleep, he didn’t want to experience the same terror. He cried as he hugged himself tightly, his claws grazing the scars on his back. He sat himself up and sighed as he slipped off the bed. He crept towards his window and opened it. The chilling gusts dried his tears. He stared wistfully outside at the city, it was nearly empty apart from a few petty thieves he spotting near some alleys. 

Suddenly there came a creak outside his door. Cino slipped towards the door before opening it rapidly to find Maxwell outside of his doorway.

“What were you doing outside my room.”

“Well technically it's my room since I own the tavern.”

“Damn your technicalities, tell me what you were doing.”

“Easy there slick. I just heard a lot of noise from your room so I came to check on ‘yuh.”

“Well I’m fine now. Please leave.”

Max spotted marks from where Cino’s tears fell down his face. “Are you sure? Those tear marks tell a different story.” Max rebutted.

Cino blushed heavily. “It’s none of your concern anyways. Just go ba––” Maxwell grabbed Cino’s muzzle and held it tight. Cino mumbled irritably, but Max signaled him to be silent, listening attentively. Soon enough, Cino could hear it. Someone was on the roof, directly above them. The sound of footsteps was migrating towards the edge of the roof, directly above Cino’s open window. Cino yanked Maxwell’s arm away and quickly dashed across the roof to his knapsack, pulling from it a small dagger. He migrated to the corner of the room and remained there silently. Maxwell remained stagnant. He would be unable to move without revealing himself to the intruder. 

Suddenly, a shadow flung in through the open window. The intruder glanced at the empty bed, then at the doorway at Maxwell. He lifted his dagger ready to charge. Before he could manage however, he felt cold iron being pressed against the fur of his neck. Not a moment later, the intruder flipped the dagger in his hand and stabbed behind him. Cino backed off of the shadow. The intruder lunged at Cino. Cino managed to duck, turned, and once again the intruder found iron pressed against his skin, but this time there was no hesitation. With a quick motion, Cino sliced across the intruders neck, inflicting a deep cut. The intruder gagged, drowning in his own blood as he stumbled to the ground.

Cino dropped his bloodied knife before kneeling towards the body. Its face was covered by a white mask covered in black stripes. He motioned Maxwell over.

Maxwell interrogated Cino, “Who was he after? Was he trying to kill you? Why was he trying to kill you? Did you know people were after you?!” 

Cino hesitated. “It’s… a long story. I can’t tell you everything.”

Max interjected, “Like hell you can’t. I have a dead body in my tavern now and it’s your fault, tell me what’s going on before I kick your lousy ass out of here.”

Cino sighed. “I’ll be going. Just at least let me pack my things…”


End file.
